“I say, perfessor, what in creation brung that thar brother of yours out to this country, and throwed him into the company of such a varmint as that Lish?” asked Big Thompson, as Oscar joined him at the woodpile the next morning, where he stood taking an observation of the weather. “Oh, he came out here to make his fortune; and, like a good many others who have tried it, he spent all his money, and had to take up with the first thing that came in his way.” With this introduction, Oscar went on to tell as much of Tom’s history as he was willing the guide should know. He went more into the particulars of the matter than he would have done under almost any other circumstances, for he saw very plainly that his companion was not at all pleased to have Tom there. He very naturally supposed that anyone who could willingly associate with such a fellow as the wolfer must of necessity be as bad and worthless as he was, and Oscar’s first task was to free his mind from this impression. His next was to awaken sympathy for the unfortunate Tom, and in both these efforts he succeeded beyond his expectations. He had the gratification of seeing that, after his conversation with him, Big Thompson was as friendly toward Tom as he was toward himself. “He is not going home with me,” said Oscar in conclusion. “He came out here with a good deal of money in his pocket, and I don’t blame him for wanting to stay until that money is all replaced. When we get to the fort I am going to see what I can do for him.” Oscar felt better after this talk with his guide, and urged him to hurry up the breakfast, as he was impatient to see that fine hunting dog at work. He made all sorts of sport of the shaggy, ill-looking little fellow, who must have understood some of his disparaging remarks, for he promptly and fiercely resented every attempt that Oscar made to scrape an acquaintance with him. Big Thompson only grinned and nodded his head, as if to say, “Wait and see,” and so confident was he of success during the coming hunt that he told Tom to follow about a mile in their rear with the mule, and come up to them when he heard them shoot. Breakfast over, the two hunters set out on foot, Big Thompson carrying his dog under his arm; and, after three hours’ rapid walking through the willows that lined the banks of the brook, they came within sight of the grove at the upper end of the valley. When they had approached within a quarter of a mile of it, the boy’s heart bounded with hope, for he saw a large elk—the very one he wanted most—walk out of the timber, take a look about him, and then walk back again. The guide now took the lead, moving with noiseless steps, and Oscar followed close behind. They approached within less than two hundred yards of the grove without alarming the game, and there they halted. It was evident that a number of elk were browsing in the grove, for the bushes could be heard crashing in every direction.